Leadership Lost To Camera Obsession

A White House full of cabinet members who think every meeting is a camera test, every policy a scene, and every scandal an opportunity to win Trump’s golden Oscar.

Guest article by Michael Cohen. Remember to follow him on Substack for more by clicking here. Michael is also racing to 500K followers on YouTube! Subscribe today for free here.

If you’ve ever wondered what happens when a reality-show host becomes president and surrounds himself with people who believe they’re starring in a primetime drama instead of running a superpower, well, don’t. We’re living in the trailer, the episode, and the series finale all at once. And trust me: it’s not prestige television. It’s influencer-government with a nuclear arsenal.

Take Pete Hegseth, a man who seems to believe guest-hosting Fox & Friends qualifies him to lecture U.S. generals and admirals. Watching him hold court with top military brass is like watching a guy who once played a pilot in a pharmaceutical commercial explain aerodynamics to the FAA. This isn’t cute. It’s not supposed to make you laugh. It’s our national security, and we’ve somehow let a talk-show personality cosplay as a wartime consigliere.

Then you have Stephen Miller, still performing his long-running one-man horror anthology about immigrants. Every time he talks, it sounds like he’s narrating a dystopian audiobook no one asked for. You know you’re in trouble when your senior adviser makes Orwell look like a light beach read. Miller isn’t shaping policy; he’s auditioning for a reboot of The Purge.

Meanwhile, Kristi Noem, Trump’s Secretary of Homeland Security, has apparently decided that public service is best measured in cinematic reach. Her DHS video, played on airport screens and on television, delivers an ominous, cruel message clearly designed to intimidate immigrants. Hair extensions: perfect. Makeup: flawless. Tone: meticulously pre-prepared to give that chilling, “don’t even think about it” vibe. It’s less about policy, more about optics, and the rest of us are left watching a performance that turns a federal agency into a stage.

And let’s not overlook Howard Lutnick, who treats the American economy like he’s giving market updates on a morning show. Tariffs up, investments pouring in, everything’s great—just trust him! Then, with the breezy detachment of a man discussing last night’s box scores, he refers to Jeffrey Epstein as a “known pedophile.” A known pedophile? He says it like Epstein is a quirky neighbor with an unfortunate nickname, not the radioactive scandal currently melting down Trump and the entire Republican Party.

Which brings us to the newest breakout star in Trump’s ensemble: Transportation Secretary Sean Duffy, the man who thinks his job is less about infrastructure and more about producing sweeping cinematic speeches about “remaking America’s arteries of greatness.” He travels the country like he’s on a promotional tour for a blockbuster nobody remembers greenlighting. While bridges literally crack and rail systems age into archaeological exhibits, Duffy stands in a reflective vest doing slow, dramatic stares into the distance, like the Secretary of Transportation is a Marvel character awaiting a heroic backstory. Unfortunately, he’s not Captain America. He’s more like the guy who shows up in the post-credits scene and you still don’t know what he’s supposed to do.

And then there’s the queen of the administration’s daily soap opera: Attorney General Pam Bondi. Senate Republicans—who happily cheered her on until recently—are now whispering in hallways like shaken production assistants that the DOJ has become a “distraction.” Translation: they’ve realized Bondi is running the Justice Department like it’s the legal desk on a cable-news panel, improvising more than prosecuting, and taking cues straight from Trump’s Truth Social feed.

Bondi is starring in her own serialized drama, The Phantom Client List Chronicles. First, she tells Fox News the Epstein client list is “sitting right now on my desk.” MAGA hears this and loses its collective mind. Senators panic. Democrats grin like they’ve just been handed the world’s sharpest political blade. Months later, DOJ releases a memo saying there is no client list at all. None. A complete vanishing act worthy of bad magic.

Her defenders insist she meant a stack of documents, not a literal list, but the damage was already done. Republicans are calling it an “unforced error.” I call it amateur hour. Because let’s be honest: this wasn’t a legal miscommunication; it was a reality-TV plot twist gone wrong.

Now add the Comey indictment fiasco—a case collapsing under its own incompetence—and you get the full picture. Federal judges are questioning misconduct, former Trump lawyer Ty Cobb is calling for disbarments, and Lindsey Halligan, Trump’s handpicked but wildly inexperienced prosecutor, can’t seem to keep track of which version of the indictment she showed to whom. It’s government-by-outtake.

And then came the grand finale: a Truth Social message intended for Bondi’s inbox, blasted out publicly instead, listing the usual targets: Comey, Schiff, Letitia James. And honestly, I believe they all could genuinely have real legal exposure—if Bondi and her DOJ crew had even the slightest grasp on how to build a coherent case. But with this cast of characters tripping over their own incompetence, even legitimate investigations collapse under the weight of their own stupidity.

Bondi immediately announced new investigations, like she was fulfilling a plot demand rather than fulfilling the law. Senate Republicans are rattled. MAGA is splintering. Donors are hedging. And Trump is already rehearsing the line he loves most:

“They failed me.”

Because in Trump’s mind, the only real crime is breaking character. And his inner circle? They don’t think they’re public servants; they think they’re television stars whose contracts get renewed by divine right.

But here’s the truth: the cameras aren’t rolling. There’s no studio audience. There’s no rerun that makes this funnier the second time.

There’s just a country being run by people who think their real job is staying camera-ready.

And the rest of us are picking up the pieces like stagehands hoping the actors will eventually learn their lines.

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